


Dirty Little Secrets

by TextualDeviance



Series: The Raven and the Dove [18]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: M/M, fluffy bromance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TextualDeviance/pseuds/TextualDeviance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnar lets slip to Torstein his plans to give Athelstan his freedom. He also lets slip another secret, with unexpected results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Little Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Set during 2x02, just before Horik's arrival. Follows [Well Trained](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1787314)

Ragnar sat at the table, casually fondling the beautiful piece of metal in his hand. It was perfect: exactly how he had imagined when he set the goldsmith to making it. The dragon heads at either end were fierce, the twisted strands of the band between them fine and even. He smiled, imagining the moment when, he hoped, he’d be able to give it to the person for whom it was intended.

Unexpected footsteps in the outer hall startled him. He quickly slid the arm ring into its leather pouch and stood up. He didn’t expect Athelstan to be here this morning, having an appointment for an armor fitting, but he wanted to be careful to protect the surprise nonetheless.

He needn’t have worried.

“So!” Torstein bounded in, a broad smile evident through his blond beard. “What did you think? Did I train him well?”

Ragnar laughed. “Very well! We sparred yesterday afternoon, and I was impressed with his skill.” He gestured for his friend to sit down, and retook his own seat.

“I hoped you might be. I was, too. He doesn’t seem like much to look at him, but he’s almost a natural. I would never have guessed he wasn’t raised with an axe in his hand like any other Northman.” Torstein leaned over the table, dropping his voice. “Believe it or not, he actually bested me, once. The clever little mouse ducked under a blow and came around my side to wallop me in the back. He’s fast, and downright fierce when he gets his blood up.”

Ragnar tried not to let his face betray how very well he knew the truth of Torstein’s words. “That’s good to hear. I saw a bit of that myself.”  

“I only worry that he starts getting sloppy when he’s losing ground and starts to panic.” Torstein’s smile faded slightly. “It may be that he needs to be blooded—to give himself some confidence—but I’m not sure how we can go about that.”

“Well, it should be somewhat easy very soon.” Ragnar sipped at his mug of hot, herbed water.

“How so?”

Ragnar flashed a sly smile. “I’m taking him with us.”  

Torstein’s brow furrowed. “With us? Where?” Then his eyes grew wide in understanding. “Oh! On our raid? To England?”

Ragnar nodded.

Torstein looked unconvinced. “Are you certain?”

“Didn’t you just say that he was a natural with his axe? And that he only needs blooding to root his skill?”

“Well, yes, but . . . it’s not that I doubt his skill.”

“What do you doubt, then?” Ragnar raised an eyebrow.

Torstein chewed his lip and fidgeted. “It’s just that we're going back to his homeland. Aren’t you concerned?”

“About?”

“That he might want to stay. That he might try to escape somehow—to go back to his people. Being back on his own soil might remind him that you took him from it in the first place.”

Ragnar shrugged. “He has more than proven that he is loyal to me. I think he would like to visit his old country, but his home is here. He’s made that clear.”

“I agree that it very much seems as if he is one of us, now. I have grown fond of him over the years myself. He is a good and dear friend to me.” Torstein shifted uncomfortably. “But how do you know his loyalty isn’t just because he’s your thrall? Do you know his heart that well, to know that he would not choose otherwise if he truly had a choice?”

Ragnar shivered off a momentary wave of doubt. “I know his heart very well, Torstein. And in any case, the matter of whether it is his choice may soon be moot.”

Torstein cocked his head. “Oh?”

Ragnar reached inside the pouch and drew forth the arm ring. “Say absolutely nothing of this to anyone, especially him.”

Torstein stared at the band. “I will say nothing, but if he is to become your thane, he would need to be a free man, yes?”

“Exactly.” Ragnar smiled broadly and slipped the ring back in its pouch. “If he proves himself in battle—if we are attacked by his countrymen and he kills one or more of them—then surely it will prove his loyalty beyond all doubt. I already believe it in my heart, but such an act would undoubtedly sway anyone else who has ever questioned whether he is one of us. It would earn him a place among all other free men. No more would anyone say that Athelstan is less than any other Northman.”

Torstein went quiet for a moment, gazing at the pouch. Finally, he spoke again, albeit hesitantly. “Ragnar, you are my beloved friend. I have been, and will always be, on your side. So please know that I say this without meaning any disrespect or questioning of your character.”

Ragnar’s jaw tightened. “Go on.”

Torstein did not meet his eye. “Surely you must know what some people say about Athelstan.”

Ragnar feigned innocence. “What do they say about him?”

“That he is . . . They question him not just because he is a slave, or a foreigner, or a Christian. They question whether he is truly a man at all.” He looked back up, and quickly added: “Not that I feel that way myself. As I said: he is my friend. I care for him very much, and to be honest, I’ve found myself defending his honor a time or two. Tork Amundson bears a scar on his cheek just for that.” He grinned.

Ragnar returned the smile. “I had wondered how he came by that mark.”

“But in any case,” Torstein continued. “People have sometimes questioned why you would consort with such a man.”

 _So it has come to this_ , Ragnar thought bitterly. He sat back in his chair and passed a hand over his face. “There’s no need to be indirect about it, Torstein. You can say it: people believe Athelstan to be _ergi_.”

Torstein hung his head. “Yes.”

“Well, they are not incorrect.”

Torstein’s head snapped back up. “What?”

“By how most Northmen would see him, yes. He is. But if he is, then so am I.”

“Ragnar, that’s not—“

“Save the words, Torstein.” He stood up and began to pace. “I know you mean well, and that you don’t wish to dishonor me—or him.”

“Of course not.”

“In truth, I have been wanting to free him for years, but I have not yet had the courage to face what people might think of me if I did. That he is now becoming a warrior with just as much skill as anyone is the opportunity I have needed, but the fact that I have waited so long to do this is a matter of shameful cowardice on my part.” Ragnar heaved a courage-shoring breath. “The truth is that I love Athelstan, with the deepest parts of my being. Although I am proud of the man he is becoming, I loved him before just as well. I have loved him, if I am being honest, from the moment I decided to spare his life when we raided his temple.” He picked up the pouch and traced the outline of the ring inside it with a fingertip. “I have loved him with my mind, with my heart . . . and with my body.” He glanced over. Torstein seemed frozen in his chair, but at least he didn’t seem to be reacting with hostility. “If loving this man has made me _ergi_ , then _ergi_ I shall be.” Trying to hide his trembling, he sat back down again, and fidgeted with the drawstring on the pouch.

Much to his surprise, Torstein burst out in a sudden ripple of laughter.

“What?” Ragnar frowned at him.

“By all the gods, it finally makes sense!” Torstein grinned big at him. “All these years, I’ve been wondering what you two were getting up to—sneaking off at all hours of the day and night. Curse my lack of imagination: I had thought you were getting into some secret stash of mushrooms or something. I should have known better.”

Ragnar shifted uncomfortably; this was not the reaction he had imagined to such a confession. “So you’re not upset? You’re not angry, or disgusted?”

Torstein shrugged. “Why would I be? Honestly, Ragnar: you of all people should be perfectly aware of what I’ve done. As I recall, you were actually present one of those times.”

“What, with Floki and Helga? I thought you two were only sharing her.”

“More or less. It’s not my place to tell you details—that’s a secret of Floki’s I swore to keep—but we were deep enough into our ale that night, and a couple of other times, that, well . . . let’s just say Helga is not the only one I kissed.” He grinned shyly, and his cheeks flushed. “But that’s actually not the time I meant. There was one other.”

Ragnar’s brain scrambled, as he tried to remember. “You’ve lost me. When? And with whom?”

“He is with the gods now, so I hope he won’t mind my mentioning it: Arne.”

“One-Eye? What happened with him? I still don’t—wait. I think . . . I was so drunk that night, though. I thought I had imagined it.”

“You didn’t. Arne and I had a couple of women between us in a tent at Uppsala. Things got very entangled, and we stopped caring whose body parts belonged to whom. Athelstan—the poor, hallucinating lad—was standing at the entrance to the tent, just watching the whole thing like it was a vision inside his head and not something real. You came up behind him, saw what was happening, and steered him away.” He paused for a wry chuckle. “You caught my eye just before you left, so I know you saw it.”

Now that he had been reminded, Ragnar did, in fact, remember the sight very clearly. “I did. Arne had his . . . and you were . . .”

“I was. It was a bit weird, now that I think about it, but at the time it seemed like a perfectly natural thing to do. I think Arne kind of wanted to forget it had happened—we never spoke of it again—but for my part, I don’t regret it.” He tilted his chair back, folding his hands behind his head. “Really, Ragnar. It’s not uncommon for men to share women, and we don’t call that _ergi_.”

“That’s not what’s happening with me and Athelstan, though. We’ve not shared any women. We almost did, with Lagertha, but that never quite worked out the way I—or she—had hoped.”

“And that’s a pity, I’m sure, but it’s kind of beside my point. Let's face it: when we men share a woman, half the time it’s far less about her than it is about us. We do it to bond with each other. We do it because we enjoy the extra male energy. We do it because we are so proud of our cocks that it excites us to be around other ones. What could be more of an intense experience of male bonding than to be with a man without even having a woman in the room?”

Ragnar had gone beyond surprise into fascination, so he simply stared as Torstein continued.

“I’m not saying that this is necessarily something that interests me on a given day. I love women—every god in Asgard knows how much I love women—but I think we men sometimes use their presence as an excuse to keep from acknowledging when we do love—and want—each other. It seems to me that at least you and Athelstan have dispensed with that excuse. Not to say that you don’t love Aslaug, or that you didn’t love Lagertha. I know your feelings for them very, very well. But it’s clear to me, and has been for many years, that you love Athelstan, too, and to be honest, I’m glad you aren’t trying to pretend you don’t, or hiding how you feel about him behind some woman you might share.”

The room went quiet for a moment while Ragnar digested the entirely bizarre conversation. Finally, he sighed with some sadness. “I like your perspective on things. I would never have figured you for such a thoughtful man, but I’m glad you are. The unfortunate part is that I doubt many others are as insightful or understanding about this.”

Torstein shook his head. “No, they’re not, which is ridiculous, but it is also reality. This is why I mentioned in the first place what people say about Athelstan. You’re aware of it, though, so I won’t say any more about it. And I of course won’t speak a word of what you have told me. I’m sure it took a lot of courage for you to confess it to me. I will keep your secret in full confidence.”  

A great deal of tension left Ragnar’s body. “Thank you.”

“I will say, however, that I’m not sure Athelstan proving himself in battle is going to be enough to change people’s minds about him—or you, by extension. Giving him that ring—giving him his freedom—is going to come with some risks.”

Ragnar nodded in understanding. “More than I had imagined, I suppose. Yet, I also am not afraid to take those risks. Let people think what they think. People can question my right to call myself a man—or Athelstan’s right to the same—at their own peril, because I will defend that at every turn.”

Torstein leaned back over the table, meeting Ragnar’s eyes. “And so will I. I cannot guarantee how anyone else will act, but for my part: I am sworn to defend you and your house, and that includes Athelstan. If anyone wishes to challenge either of you, they will have to face me, too.”

Ragnar reached out to clasp his hands. “I am very grateful for this, Torstein, in ways I cannot express. Having you by my side in a raid has always given me comfort, and it will even more so now.”

“You are most welcome, friend—and I look forward to raiding with you again!” He nodded at the pouch. “I also look forward to seeing that on Athelstan’s arm. He has earned it, several times over, and I, for one, am very glad the man who loves him will soon be giving him his due.”        


End file.
